


Backstage

by brooklinegirl



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-04
Updated: 2009-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 20:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooklinegirl/pseuds/brooklinegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank shouldn’t be watching. Shouldn't even still be here, should have maybe seen what is <i>very clearly</i> private times happening and, you know, <i>left</i> the way any sane and/or rational person would have done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backstage

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU to mrsronweasley for betaing. Again. You are made of win and also bananas.

Frank is happy and high on music and life and the stage and the show. Sweat is soaking his hair and his clothes and his fingers feel raw from playing and his throat hurts from screaming into the mic, and he feels good. He feels _great_. Backstage is a madhouse of bodies and shouting and he can't stop grinning. He wants a Red Bull, he wants a bunk, he wants a fucking _shower_.

He yells that over his shoulder to Bob, who waves him off, and Frank heads - with purpose, the only way to make your way through the mess of backstage - to find some kind of source of running water. The idea of an actual hot shower with some sort of privacy is beyond a figment of his fucking imagination at this point, but some of these venues at least have locker-room-style showers and he will sniff that sucker out if he has to.

He tries three dressing rooms and two bathrooms and one door that leads to an alley and, apparently, is hooked up to an alarm system, which sends security running right the fuck over to where Frank is standing, hands up in the air, all, "I did it. I did it. It was me." He backs away quickly as they get to work on disabling the alarm, yelling apologies behind him as he scoots off to continue on his search.

He gives a long hallway a shot - door locked, door locked, supply closet, _score_ , dressing room! He slips inside quickly and - oh.

Gerard is there. Gerard is - Gerard is saying, fiercely, "Shut the door."

Which Frank does, dumbly, behind him, not thinking till after it already latches that maybe Gerard hadn't meant _come in_. But he's in, and his back is against the door, partly because his knees are maybe a little weak, but partly to make sure it _stays shut_ against anyone else looking for a shower or a couch or a quiet place to…do what Gerard is doing.

Frank presses harder against the door. Gerard has his tight black jeans shoved down his thighs. He has his cock in his hand, and he is braced back against the counter that runs below the mirror along the wall. And he's jerking himself off - he'd barely even paused when Frank had stumbled into the room. He's sweaty - his thin t-shirt is soaked with it - and his hair is in his face, only falling forward again each time he tosses it back. He's still wearing his fucking _jacket_ , the worn leather creaking a little bit with the movements of his hand.

Frank can't stop staring. He can't even process this in his fucking _brain_.

Gerard doesn't stop moving his hand, stroking it up and down, his thumb cocked out to one side, sliding against the head of his cock hard each time he goes up. He's panting, his mouth open and wet, like there's not enough air in the room.

Which maybe there isn't, because Frank can't breathe right, either. Frank is maybe losing his fucking _mind_ here. Because holy fuck, Gerard is in front of him jerking off and it should be weird or funny or _wrong_ , but instead it's just _unbelievably fucking hot_ and Frank is more turned on than he's ever been in his _life_ , jesus christ.

Gerard's eyes are half-closed, but he's aware of Frank, Frank can see that. It clearly doesn't matter to him, though, like he's so deeply _into_ this that he doesn't care that he has Frank as an audience. He's close, he's apparently really fucking close, biting his lip now, his eyes all glassy, and seeming not at all to mind that Frank is right there, watching like it's his favorite movie of all time.

Gerard doesn't even slow down – his feet are braced against the floor and he's, like, arching into the strokes. Frank can't move, he can't even swallow, he can only watch as Gerard gasps, his head thrown back, his eyes clenched shut, his hand clinging hard to the counter behind him. Frank just watches, breathless, as Gerard comes, hard, all over his hand, fuck, all over the _floor_.

Frank – shouldn’t be watching. Shouldn't even still be here, should have maybe seen what is _very clearly_ private times happening and, you know, _left_ the way any sane and/or rational person would have done.

Instead he's still pressed against the door and his hand is still wrapped around the doorknob for some reason, clenching it so hard his fingers ache. And he's _still not leaving_. He's actually not even sure he could move his _feet_ right now.

Gerard takes a deep breath, and opens his eyes. He looks a little dazed, as he wipes his hand off on his jeans before dragging them up. He leaves them undone, though, and finally looks up at Frank, as he pushes off the counter.

"Gee," Frank says, or tries to, but his voice isn't really working right. Also, he's sweating. Again. "I –"

Gerard doesn't stop or slow down, just comes right up to Frank. Frank has a wild moment of _he's going to hit me! No, he's going to kiss me! No, wait_ , before Gerard just stops in front of Frank, biting his lip and looking at him for a moment before he drops to his knees. The back of Frank's head hits the door hard. Gerard tucks his fingers into the (sweaty, gross) waist of Frank's jeans, and he's looking up at Frank through his eyelashes, and he's sweaty, too, and his cheeks are really fucking pink and his eyes are so hot Frank can't even take it.

"Okay?" Gerard's voice is shot, rough and destroyed, and he's sort of undoing Frank's pants at the same time as he's asking but, hi, it's not like Frank is going to say _no_.

"Yeah, okay, yeah, I mean, you – I didn’t-" It doesn't matter that Frank is losing it here, because Gerard is, like, on a higher plain of existence or something, just going for it here like he's planned this all along and it wasn't a complete _act of god_ that lead Frank to this particular door at this particular time.

Gerard has Frank's dick out of his pants like _that_ , before Frank can move or even breathe, and then Gerard has his mouth on him, and is sucking him off like his fucking goddamn life depends on it. Which Frank is really A-OK with, completely fine, Jesus God in heaven, he knew Gerard's mouth was pretty much made for cocksucking, you could tell that much just by looking at it, but this is – this is something so fucking beyond _anything_ that Frank can't even -

There's a knock on the door and someone tries the knob (which is still clenched _really tightly_ in Frank's hand), and Frank doesn't know how he has breath in his lungs, but he yells really fucking violently, "Get the fuck away right fucking now or I'll rip your fucking face off!"

There's a long pause where Gerard is kind of just holding Frank's cock in his mouth, sort of sucking on it gently like it's a goddamn lollipop and fuck if that isn't going to make Frank go off any _second_ now, and then there's a small voice outside the door that says, "…okay," and Frank has to assume they're gone, because he really, really can't concentrate on anything other than Gerard's mouth on his cock right now.

Gerard is really into it, like, to the exclusion of anything else. His fingers are tucked into the waistband of Frank's jeans, tugging them down further so he can go deeper, Jesus. He's sucking Frank off with the same frantic energy he was just jerking himself off with, and Frank is thrumming, here. He could come any second, he could come right _now_ , but he doesn't want to, he really, really wants to just keep this going maybe forever. Because Gerard's hot, hot mouth is perfect, and Gerard is _yanking_ Frank's hips forward like he wants Frank to fuck his mouth, hard, and this is just - it's fucking awesome, is what it is.

Frank manages to unclench his hand from the doorknob, finally, and lets himself sink his fingers into Gerard's hair, tangled with sweat and product, perfect to hold on to, god, Gerard's whole body is made for this sort of thing. Frank yanks on his hair, hard, and Gerard groans and pulls himself forward with his grip on Frank's jeans, shoving Frank's legs further apart with his knees. _God_. Frank can't help himself – that's an invitation if he ever saw one, this whole thing has been one huge invitation, Gerard wants this just as bad as Frank does. Frank didn't even know what it was he wanted when he came offstage like this, with his skin and body all lit up like that. He thought maybe a shower, a smoke, a drink, but this is so, so much better.

"You have some really fucking awesome ideas," he says tightly, his head tilted back to the ceiling, just pushing forward hard, sliding his cock across Gerard's tongue again and again. Gerard takes him in deeper, in response, and Frank so, so approves of that. Whole-heartedly. With all his heart. All of it. And also with his dick.

His hands are clenched in Gerard's hair, and Gerard is hanging onto Frank's hips, holding Frank there hard against the wall, pinning him in place while Gerard goes down deep, swallowing around Frank's dick. Frank's head hits the door hard and he's seeing fucking stars even as he says, "Oh God, Gerard, oh fuck, I'm gonna – you have to – oh, _fuck_ ," and comes like a champion right the fuck there in Gerard's mouth.

Gerard swallows – of course Gerard swallows, Frank can't imagine him doing anything _but_ \- and leans back slowly, like he's sorry to have to let Frank slip out of his mouth. They stay there like that, for a while, Frank's fingers tangled in Gerard's sweaty hair, Gerard with his face pressed against the denim over Frank's thigh. It takes way longer than it should have for Frank to be able to even open his eyes, and Gerard – Gerard is still leaning there against him, his breath hot against Frank.

"Hi," Frank says finally, uncertainly, trying to loosen his grip on Gerard's hair.

Gerard tilts his head a little, looking up at Frank, his eyeliner smeared halfway down his face, his mouth looking red and sore. "Hi." He bites his lip, and smiles, and Frank reaches down to help haul him to his feet. There's this moment of Frank thinking they're going to go through the whole awkward thing of not talking, tucking themselves away, and going out the door and in separate directions as quickly as possible, but – Gerard is leaning in, color high in his cheeks, and he's kissing Frank, soft and sweet, like, really fucking sweet, like first date kisses, like summertime kisses, like he means it with all of his heart and fucking soul. "God," Gerard says pulling away, and tucking his hot face into Frank's shoulder, "God, that was a fucking amazing show, wasn' t it?"

"Jesus, yes," Frank says. He doesn’t know if they're talking about the show onstage, or the one that just happened right here with Gerard on his fucking knees. But – either way, yeah, it had been, it so fucking had been. "It so fucking was."

Gerard's hand curls into the back of Frank's shirt, tight. "This is amazing," he breathes, hot against Frank's neck. "You're amazing."

Frank grins helplessly into Gerard's sweaty hair. "I – it is." He breathes deeply, the scent of sweat and sex and success. "You are. We are."

"I know, right?" Gerard sags against him. "Don't go out yet," he says, his voice drained, exhausted, _happy_. "Stay here for a few, yeah?"

"Yeah," Frank says because - _yeah_. "Of course, yeah." He feels Gerard's face curl into a grin against his shoulder, and he holds on tight. Fuck yeah.

the end


End file.
